


Love and War

by Mercury (ChocoKat)



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, ares is a little jealous of zagreus maybe? idk! im making this up as i go, dionysus and hypnos are friends, implied zagreus/hypnos, perhaps ares talks to dionysus about his feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28394967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoKat/pseuds/Mercury
Summary: Hypnos kind of fucks up. Ares can finally see the appeal in Athena's war tactics through this fuck up.
Relationships: Ares/Hypnos (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 164





	Love and War

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm not good at fanfics. I only roleplay, so this is gonna be a mishmash of bullshit and making things up as I go. But I will feed us, Arenos nation. I sure as hell will try at least! And I'm sorry if it's short btw! I'm not good at writing long things over long periods.
> 
> Please comment and leave kudos if you like this. It motivates me a lot!

Sleep is not his brother, Death. Sleep is a temporary reprieve. Death is eternal. 

Sleep is warm and soft, where death is cold and distant. For that, for all that is, Sleep and War should by no means have compatibility. But by some impossible odds, they manage to have all the more in common than ever anticipated. Even the immortal must sleep, if only to pass the long centuries ahead. It is almost funny, how much time they have, and yet so little to do with it. Hypnos has not always been around. But sleep? Man, immortals alike, they both must rest. 

And they have, for eons. He is nearing his fourth century-- and he couldn't feel any less that he had made something of himself. All of that time-- 400 years-- and what was he doing with it exactly? Sleeping. Writing. Sleeping. Sorting. Repeat. Day after day, long night into the next. 

Time felt even more so like the construct it was. The minutes blurred together, and could have been hours, in the space between seconds that it took for him to blink. He knows what lies ahead. The garden of Queen Persephone, on which he dares not trespass. He skirts around it altogether. Instead he follows the trail of ruby poppies that sprout from his steps, watching with carefree whimsy as they bloom from the snow underfoot. So sporadic, so full of life...

He envies the flowers. They, like himself, did not choose to exist. But they would not be burdened by the parasite of sentience. Their roots would search beneath the earth, finding better, suitable places to grow. They would move on and leave a legacy-- a seed, to begin the cycle anew. 

And what would Hypnos be doing? Nothing of note.

He raises a hand. Within it, his cloak materializes, thick and stuffed with feathers. Quilted patches of the brightest red with white wool trim. The god drapes it around his shoulders. He settles down over top of a snowdrift. It cradles him, cold but pliant. Hypnos is always cold.

He gently picks the petals of a poppy. His eyes feel heavy, like feathers burden his lashes. The god falls asleep in the deep crevice of gnarled tree roots. He dreams of nothing, as usual. He clears the dark smog of nightmares from the minds of mortals. He spins tales, weaving threads of memories and imagination to create dreams. The subconscious is a powerful tool. 

One that many do not utilize properly. A shame, really... 

Hypnos is in the middle of pulling the threads to a close, beginning the next chain so to speak, before his eyes open. They meet with a blade-- long and sharp, made from the darkest stygian iron in the depths of the underworld. He recognized that blade. So why was it pointed at him?

"Huh? Whoa-- I don't know who bonked you on the head, but I'm not a monster, Zag--"

"Hold your tongue, whelp. You know of my kin?"

That is not Zagreus. Hypnos freezes. Slowly, with trepidation, as though the sight of the being before him would vaporize him, Hypnos looks up.

"...L-Lord A-A-Ares..?!" He sputters out, eyes wide.

The god seems annoyed. "You address me correctly."

If not for the blade aimed at his throat, Hypnos would have thrown himself into a deep bow.

"What an honor! I, I am so pleased to be in your presence! M-My Lord, what is... with all due respect I mean, of course Lord Ares, but I, what have I done to invoke your ire? How may I make up for it? Erm, Mr. Lord Ares, sir,"

Ares looks at him a moment longer. And then he lowers the blade, looking astonished, if only by the amount that this little godling can talk. He knows this is no mortal-- and certainly no mere shade either. Threats or no, the godling will speak, he realizes with grudging exasperation.

"Your name, godling. Tell me." 

"O-Oh! H-Hypnos, my Lord!" 

Why did he want to know? So he could tell Lord Hades he was slacking again? Or perhaps to at least give him the honor of being sent back to Hell with a name to his mangled corpse?

Intrigue colored the major god's expression. Hypnos, the chthonic god of sleep. So he did know of the underworld escapee. Ares returned the sword to its sheath, crossed over its twin. 

The leather jangled against his gold shield.

"My kin. You know him as Zagreus. Where is he, tell me and I shall perhaps spare your life."

Zagreus? What about him? What did the god of war want with the son of Hades? He blusters.

"I-I don't know, my Lord! He's, he usually is in the underworld, but I'm not sure! If not there then..."

That sword makes its reappearance. Tilting up his chin now, iron frigid in the subzero temperatures. 

"Then where." Ares demands of him. Hypnos swallows. 

"U-Usually... exploring the surface! I, I don't know where he goes, this is one of my first times up here!"

He's not technically lying. The entrances to the underworld... they shift and relocate, dependent on the time (it keeps out the stragglers). Zagreus is a busy guy, or at least he has been since he left, and Hypnos can't keep up with him except through the methods in which he dies. In a way, he is almost part of Zagreus' journey. And Hypnos has only been up once or twice himself.

"You lie to me, godling. Why protect your compatriot when the alternative is death?" 

Because I'll come back, he thinks. Wow, what a Zagreus thing to say. He's rubbing off now.

"No no no no, sir, Mr. Lord Ares, I would never lie to you, not intentionally, at least..!"

Hypnos can't run. He's being hefted, lifted by the collar of his tunic, and Ares holds him aloft without difficulty. They make devastating eye contact.

"I will give you one final chance to redeem yourself, godling.” He says calmly. 

“Do not take my mercy for granted. Where is he." 

Hypnos doesn't know why he does it. Perhaps it's a fight or flight response, and he doesn't know how else to react. Maybe it seemed like a good idea in his head. But the instant those words leave the war god's mouth, Hypnos raises a free hand, and snaps his fingers. 

"S-Sorry, my Lord..!" He says, before Ares crumples, asleep. 

Now is a great time to start panicking.

Oh, blood and darkness. He just put the god of war to sleep! What does he do now..? Hypnos has fallen back on his hindquarters, forgetting in the moment that he can float. But the pain in his ass is a lesser sting than any hell Ares could, and would rain upon him after waking. Hypnos fumbles, stumbling to his feet, and begins to pace through the thick snow. It burns against his bare skin, numbing his toes. He doesn't pay it any heed. He has bigger fish to fry. 

Much bigger, dangerous fish. Well, maybe that would be an expression better saved for lord Poseidon? No no, not important-- focus! What would he do now? He couldn't hide in the underworld-- Hades would gladly hand him off, after his actions against the house. Consider it a fitting punishment for a traitor, he might say. Hypnos felt his pulse fluttering with rising worry. 

He felt he might be sick, and he hadn't eaten a thing. He looked back to the slumbering war god. In his rest, he almost looked... peaceful. How unbefitting of his rugged, handsome features. 

But nonetheless charming in its own way.Hypnos stepped back, and his foot met something soft, warm. His cloak. He lifted it, about to drape the fabric across his own back, before guilt stabbed him in the chest. Lord Ares hadn't... well, he had entirely intended to threaten Hypnos. 

But he never had a personal vendetta against him, to his knowledge at least. It wasn't fair to leave him. Hypnos looks back to the tree he napped under. Yes... that would be a better spot. He nods to himself. Hypnos lays out the cloak across the ground. He then meanders nervously toward the god of war, who does not move, despite his greatest fears. He reaches out with a tentative foot to nudge his shoulder, test the legitimacy of his unconsciousness. 

When nothing happens, his shoulders sag with relief. Hypnos leans down, hooking his arms beneath Ares', and begins to pull him. Lord Zeus' beard, he's heavy! All of that clunky armor must be a pain in the rear to carry. And subsequently, a pain for Hypnos to carry him in. 

The chthonic god grunts, letting his body lift from the ground. That makes it a bit easier. By only a margin, but something is better than nothing. He yanks Ares one last time, and the god is sprawled on the blanket, unmoving. Hypnos might question if he were alive, if not for the rise and fall of his chest-- and the obvious. He’s a god. Hypnos pulls the blanket until he can settle Ares against the trunk of the tree, and he tenderly wraps it around his broad body. There. 

As comfortable as Hypnos can get him. Does the god of war crave comfort? 

Does he desire such primal and intimate affairs? 

Hypnos could almost call it endearing, the way his wide chest flattens with each breath. Silvery lashes brushing his cheeks. A battle-scarred face slackened by rest. Hypnos wonders what he dreams of. He could easily find out, but perhaps it would be best not to pry around the war god’s mind any further. Ares will already be quite cross with the sleep god when he awakes. 

Not even Hades could protect his own from the wrath of a god crafted from bloodshed. 

Thanatos would be expecting him soon, he imagined. Death always knew. 

Death was wise beyond time. And time beyond mortal, or godly comprehension.

Hypnos won't take his chances here. He turns in place, and with a flourish, feathers flying in lazy circles to the ground, a songbird takes his place and flies off. Deep, deep into the dark recesses of the underworld, until it finds home in the cradling maw of the House's hallway. 

The god lands, back to himself in no time. Hades grumbles from his desk -- something about being late. Hypnos simply nods even as the master raises his voice to reprimand him. 

Bigger fish indeed.


End file.
